


Reluctantly Helpful

by Froggoblins



Category: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Smut, Sick Character, but not really, maybe eventual romance, they just hang out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-01-13 05:21:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggoblins/pseuds/Froggoblins
Summary: Based on a scene from the novels where Gurjin decides to go home to recover for a bit after his stay in the palace and wondering how the half-dead drenchen managed make his way back, alone through unfamiliar lands.He finds that the saying "Trust a drenchen's gut" is not true in the dark woods, to say the least.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fanfic (ever), so I'd love any reviews!

Megda stretched out on her tree branch, listening to the sounds of the Dark Forest. Far below her, a thin path wound its way between large boulders and even bigger roots. She sighed. The third sister was kissing the horizon, and absolutely nothing had happened today. And she’d been so proud of this sneaking spot, too! The thief had laid in wait for ages, hoping to swipe the wares of a traveling farmer or tradesman, but none had passed. Instead of shinies or a tasty tidbit, all she had to show for the day was a sore bottom. 

The scruffy gelfling shifted again, trying to untwist the aching stiffness in her knee. Her old wound was playing up again, which only meant one thing: a storm was on its way.  
“Of course,” she grumbled. “Rain is just what I needed today.”   
She bent over to idly rub at the offending joint, though it didn’t make much of a difference. All at once, Megda froze, unmoving but for her swiveling ears. Movement, down below! Her knee forgotten, she peered down through the many leaves and branches that made up her hiding spot. 

Whoever was travelling along the path, they certainly weren’t very discreet. Mega could hear them long before she could see them as they crunched over twigs and shoved aside the underbrush. She wrinkled her nose. Other gelfling were so noisy in the woods, it was a wonder ruffnaws didn’t eat them up. A feathery fern shook, then swished as it was pushed aside by- Megda leaned forward on her perch- a very strange looking gelfling. Most of the gelfling she saw were rust brown, or freckly red. This one was all green! And much bigger than the other ones, too. She watched as they caught their breath, resting their hands on their knees. Their hair was thick, a bit like the strong vines she used in snares. As the traveler rested, one of their locs slid out from where they were twisted up at the base of their neck. A sparkling something caught the setting sunlight at its end, winking at her. Megda’s ears perked up, remembering why she was here in the first place. The strange gelfling straightened, pushing the loc and its shining treasure back into their bun. When they set off again, Megda was close behind, a shadow in the treetops. 

Megda grunted softly as she landed on another tree limb, pain nipping at her knee. Wasn’t this gelfling ever going to stop for the night? The biting pains weren’t just annoying, they were a sign that the storm was coming ever closer and she really, really, did not want to get caught in it. Luckily, her thoughts were echoed by the gelfling under her as they finally crashed off of the path to make camp. She had to bite off a laugh as they stepped directly into a sticky tar-root and nearly fell over, yelping in surprise when their feet got stuck to the dark brown plant. After flailing about for a bit and releasing some surprisingly colorful curses, they managed to stumble into a slightly clearer area and start a fire. While their night-eyes were ruined by the crackling flame, Megda took the opportunity to slink down from her perch. After climbing a fair distance away, she alighted on a mossy patch without a sound and crept closer. The traveler slumped with their back to her, rummaging through their pack. Looking for dinner, she supposed. 

Concealing herself in a convenient hollow, Megda used her large ears, rather than her eyes, to “see” her target. She listened as they pulled something out of the pack and bit into it with a crunch. Waiting was much more fun when you knew something good was coming, so she didn’t mind waiting the time it took for her mark to eat and lie down. Compared to the hours she spent in a tree earlier, it felt like moments before the other gelfling was snoring softly. She slithered out from her hollow and tiptoed closer to where the fire was burning low. The traveler was still had their back to her, laying with the warmth of the embers at their chest and face. Megda nodded to herself. Alright, first order of business was the shiny thing, and then she’d swipe the pack. Her breathing slowed as she got closer to her quarry until it was barely there at all. Mind slowing to a singular focus, she reached out and gently pulled at the coiled bun until their hair spilled out like blue-green river water, flowing down their back and over the ground. It was rather beautiful, she decided, and wondered why anyone would ever tie it up. She marveled at it for a moment, suddenly embarrassed at her short puff of tangled hair. A bit of light snapped her back to attention. At the bottom of one of the locs was the glittering glass bead which had caught her attention earlier.   
Her lips spreading into a grin, Megda reached closer, pulling out her splinter-stone knife. With nimble fingers, she severed the bead, hair and all, shoving it into her pocket. With a few quick swipes, a few more locs that had been woven with pale ribbon and twine were in her pocket. Feeling bolder, she circled around to the front of the sleeping gelfling, searching for the pack. The stranger slept with one arm under their head and the other holding the pack to their chest by the straps with a tight grip. Hah. Not that that would stop her. She gripped her knife tighter and leaned forward to cut the straps, halting her breath so that not even a wayward breeze would give her away. Using one feather light hand to hold them steady, she positioned the knife under the cloth and- 

The gelfling groaned loudly, turning away from the flame. Megda jumped, nearly slicing off the stranger’s nose. She skittered backwards into the cover of darkness, her knee protesting at the hasty movement. Her heart clanged in her chest as she ducked behind a boulder and held deathly still, waiting for a shout of anger. None came. She stayed until her heart stopped trying to jump up her throat before peeking out towards the campsite. The traveler was still lying there, now with their back to the flames. Edging closer, she tensed up again at the sound of another groan, but didn’t move. The sound was softer this time, and wasn’t directed at her. Slowly she circled around towards their front. The first thing she noticed was that, judging by his square face, the stranger was a boy. The second thing she noticed was that while the traveler’s square face was twisted up in unease, his eyes were closed and he mumbled incoherencies into his collar. Megda breathed out. A nightmare, then. That complicated things. The fears that came to him at night were none of her business, but if the nightmare startled him awake while she was working she was going to have a problem. Best to go back and wait for it to pass. As she turned, the first rumbles of thunder broke in the distance. She cursed under her breath. “Eelfeathers!”   
If the nightmare didn’t ruin her plans, the coming storm sure would. Better make this quick then. She bent back down and slashed the straps off of the pack and burst into the air, wings erupting from her mossy cloak. Behind her, she could hear the shocked shouts of her victim growing distant as she sped away into the forest she knew so well. A laugh bubbled up from inside her chest and she cackled her way through the treetops, heading towards home.   
Her good mood was popped like a rotten berry when another peal of thunder crashed into the sky. Her feelings worsened when she heard the roar of the coming rain behind the thunder. Laughter gone, she pushed forward even faster. 

“No, no, no,” Megda mumbled. She was too far away! She’d never make it back before the clouds broke open. The sound of rushing water roared louder, filling her head with panic. In her desperation, she took a turn too fast and clipped her wing on a passing branch, sending her sprawling into a tree trunk. Without pause, she pulled herself up and threw herself back into flight. A fat raindrop hit her back and was quickly joined by others until the rain thundered around her, pushing every thought but fear out of her head. Her senses were full with the feeling of rushing water, as raindrops shot into her windpipe, making her gulp for air. She felt like she was drowning. Coughing raindrops out of her throat, she swiped her eyes again and again, but somehow she could never get them dry.  
Finally, she shot through the opening to her den at the base of a tree and burrowed under her nest of a bed. Megda shook, her teeth clenched tight and her hands trying hopelessly to block out the horrible, roaring sound of rushing water. She tucked her knees to her chest and didn’t move, hiding under the covers like a scared childling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The woods and her conscience bully Megda into being a good person

As the storm slowed, Megda slowly uncurled her spine, pushing aside the blankets and blinking dully. She felt hollow after all that panic. Getting out of bed, it probably looked like she’d just woken from a nap, but she was exhausted to her core. She peeled off her soaking cloak and dropped it to the floor, where it was met with the rest of her dripping outer layers. She shuffled to the small stone fire pit and, after a few tries with damp kindling, was met with a guttering flame. The mess of blankets and stolen cloth called to her from their rooted cavity in the wall, and she turned back. Her toes brushed a soggy lump on the floor. The pack! 

She brightened a bit, plopping down on the floor and pulling it towards her to inspect its contents. Her fingers stalled at the clasp. Where was the bead? She rooted around in the pile of outer-clothes until her fingertips probed a deep pocket and came up with the cut locs. She gasped and held them up, admiring the one with the gem-like glass bead closer. 

The bright bead was irregular in shape, and the gob of glass was full of frothy bubbles. Not all of the sand had melted properly in the glassmaking process, so vibrant orange grains were suspended through the bead like dust frozen in the wind. Megda smiled and tugged it off of the hair to hold it in her palm. It was almost worth getting caught by the rainstorm. Her eyes wandered to the two other locs, woven with twine and braided with ribbon. Pulling the ribbon free, she tossed the pieces of hair to the side and slid the bead onto the ribbon. 

She’d never been taught how to properly plait hair, so it wasn’t her strongest skill. The fact that she didn’t have a mirror or even a dish of dark water to see herself in didn’t help either. Still, she doggedly worked to weave the ribbon and bead into the spot right behind her left ear, tying knots until there was absolutely no way it would slip out. She shook her head to test and revelled in the feeling of the solid bead swinging to and fro. That taken care of, she upturned the pack into her lap. 

After the bead, the contents of the pack were bound to be disappointing, but this would have been sad by any day’s standard. A heel of seedy loaf bounced onto the floor, along with a small cluster of fruits as big as Megda’s fist and a scrap of parchment. “Is that it?” She shook the pack, harder this time, and was rewarded with a few crumbs and a dead beetle. Shrugging, she reached for the heel of bread and shoved it in her mouth. As she chewed the tough loaf, she inspected the parchment. There were a few squiggly symbols in the corner that she didn’t understand, but the paper was clearly a rough map of some kind. Whoops. Hopefully, that other gelfling hadn’t needed it too badly. She gulped, set it aside, and pulled one of the fruits off of the bunch. She raised it to her lips, then stopped. Her nose twitched. Megda pulled back to inspect the fruit a little closer, scooting closer to the fire for more light. It was still night and while Megda’s eyes were sensitively tuned to the dark, many trine in the sun had weakened them. After a moment of turning the fruit over in her hand, she snorted and tossed it into the fire.  
“Hah! Stupid gelfling was lucky I stole from him!” She threw the rest of the fruit out of a small opening between the rooted walls. The fool had picked a cluster of poisonous berries! They might smell sweet, but if you ate one, you’d wish you were dead, and if you ate a few more, you might get your wish. Megda had found that out the hard way. She shuddered at the memory and blew a raspberry in the general direction of the deceitful berries. Satisfied with her good deed for the day, she wrapped herself in blankets and crawled back into bed. A slimy thought slithered to the front of her mind. Had there already been some fruits missing from the bunch when she shook it from the pack? 

“No,” she told herself, snuggling deeper into her soft hollow. But the thought nagged at her like a pebble in her shoe, and she couldn’t get comfortable. Oh yesmit, she was going to have to check, wasn’t she? Groaning, she sat up and dragged on her cloak, still heavy with rain. 

The storm had let up considerably, only letting off a spitting mist as she cast around in the mud for the clump of berries she’d thrown. Finally she pulled it, slightly squished, out of a puddle and gave it a quick once-over. On the bunch, there were four empty stems where berries had been. Counting the one that Megda had thrown into the fire, that still left three poisonous berries unaccounted for. Her ears bent back in concern. Should she go back and see if the stranger was alright? It went against every instinct she had. If thieves were the type to follow rules, the most important one would be “do not return to the scene of the crime”, followed very closely by “and for Thra’s sake, don’t seek out the big angry gelfling you stole from”.

She glared at the fruit in her hands. “You’re going to get me caught,” she grumbled, before lobbing it farther into the forest. Megda bounced on her heels, weighing her options. “I could just stay here,” she told the forest at large. There was no reply, of course, but the silence sounded disapproving to her ears. “It would be very easy to not do anything,” she continued, “and I won’t get the fluff beat out of me!” More disapproving silence greeted her. Guilt joined it, a heavy weight on her shoulders.

She chewed her lip, hesitating. “Pah!” she threw her hands in the air and stomped in the direction of the campsite. This could only end poorly, she told herself. She was just going to prove a point to the forest, nevermind how silly that endeavor was. 

The storm had washed away any tracks from the night before, so it took a while to locate the campsite. Megda approached carefully, wary of a vengeful ambush, but it soon became clear that the site was empty. The thief walked over to the ashes of the fire and kicked through them, knowing what she’d find with a lump in her throat. Her toes found three seeds, buried in the ash to sprout as thanks to the fruit that was eaten. Bugger. She hated being right. Megda looked left and right, sighing. Now came the difficult task of tracking someone after a rainstorm. 

Thankfully, her knee had quieted as the rain stalled, and she moved through the upper branches of the forest without much difficulty. Originally her plan was to follow a row of broken underbrush from the campsite, but plans had changed when she’d almost stepped into a puddle of sour-smelling sick full of the pulpy fruit. At least it meant she was on the right track. That was when she had decided to take to the trees, partially for a better vantage point but mostly to avoid whatever other gross things came her way.

She continued along the trail, ears straining at every sound, expecting at any moment to hear an angry shout of discovery. The path went on for longer than expected, winding far from the campsite and nearing the Black River. The stranger must have gotten up and continued their journey through the storm after she’d woken him. She flitted quickly down from her perch to feel the edge of a broken fern. During a rainstorm, water washed away the milky glue that welled up from a broken stem. This one was still sticky with sap, so it had been broken recently after the rain had stopped. She was getting close, but alarmingly there was still no sound of movement from farther up the trail. 

Before, the clumsy gelfling’s steps had resounded through the forest. Now, an eerie stillness coiled around her. Not even the skittering sound of a crawly's legs broke the calm. Megda chewed her lip and crouched lower, trying to identify footprints and ignore her unease at the forest’s quiet. She failed at both. 

Trine ago, the forest had only gone silent for the terrifying bone-faced beast as he hunted. She’d learned to listen, and hide from the beast when the forest creatures did. Lately, the forest was hiding away more and more, and the beast was nowhere to be seen. Megda didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t like it. 

Deep in thought over the strange omen, she almost didn’t hear the sound. What was that? She waited with bated breath until she heard it again. A soft groan, floating on the breeze. Her toes tingled as she cautiously tiptoed towards the source of the noise. Megda crawled to the top of a snarl of roots and there he was. He reminded her of a dead leaf, the way he was crumpled at the base of the tree. Pale clay had replaced his leaf-green complexion, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Her ears flicked forward and caught the sound of his breathing, shallow and wheezing in his chest. Well, she’d found him, but he was clearly dead to Thra. 

She flicked a pebble at his nose, just to be sure. It hit the target square on, but there was no reaction from the unconscious stranger. Feeling emboldened, she darted forward and jabbed his side with her toe. That prompted a low groan, but nothing else. Back on her perch, Megda stared down at the and considered her options. He looked heavy, but she’d come too far to turn back now. Her fingers found the bead behind her ear, the smooth glass already a comforting presence. There was only one choice, really. After a deep, shaky breath, she hopped down and hesitantly hooked her hands under his shoulders. “Oof!” she grunted, straining upwards. He didn’t just look heavy, he was as weighty as a full-grown nebrie! She shifted, trying to reposition him on her back, where he’d be easier to carry. At that moment, her toes landed in a slick puddle of silt and slipped, sending her face-first into the dirt. The crushing weight of the other gelfling landed solidly on top of her. “Get off me, you!” Megda wiggled out from under him and tried again, avoiding the puddle. This time she got halfway back to the trail before a patch of wet leaves betrayed her and she ended up on the ground again with a mouthful of mildew. She pulled herself to her feet, spitting out the leaf litter and a couple of curses for good measure. It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please review


	3. Chapter 3

It was already well past midday when Megda finally staggered home. She sighed in relief and loosened her grip on the unresponsive gelfling, who promptly slid off her shoulder and onto the floor. A groan rose from where he lay as she wiped the mud from her eyes.

“Don’t moan at me!” she retorted crossly. “You were absolutely no help at all.” The little thief had lost count of how many times she’d tripped, slipped and toppled over on the way back. As a result, they were both covered in mud, and her back ached from dragging the giant stranger all over creation. Her knee wasn’t too happy about it, either. She limped over to the dying coals in the hearth and threw in some dry moss. Her wings shivered, trying to shake the cold dampness that had seeped through her skin. In short time, the fire was awake and dancing. She took a brief moment to warm her cramped fingers before turning back to the boy, who was still lying in a heap by the door. He shivered, though it wasn’t clear if it was from a fever or the soggy mud that coated them both. Either way, the fire was better than nothing. She grabbed his collar and tugged him closer to the hearth. She sighed, sliding down the wall and flopping onto the dirt. Too many thoughts swarmed around in her brain, moving in quickly curving paths like flies. As soon as she settled on something, another question flew by and caught her attention. Her head felt foggy, but her chest was tight and nervous. The conflicting feelings pulled her in their seperate directions until she was frayed and stretched thin. When he woke up, would he be angry? Would he even wake up? What if he died right here, on the cold dirt floor?

The swirling thoughts left her in a daze until her stomach growled, demanding attention. In the corner, a woven basket held some knobby tubers she’d stolen from a farmer about an unum ago. They were nestled in a large shirt the farmer had hung up to dry, which she’d used to bundle up the roots when she’d snatched them. Megda pulled it out and shook off some of the dirt. The farmer had been a rather large gelfling, so much so that she’d been planning on using the tunic as a dress-or even a new blanket. She turned back to the boy, who was still coated in wet mud and leaves from their clumsy journey through the forest. An idea hit her. Dry clothes! That would help! Grateful for a clear goal, she latched onto the idea. After tucking two roots by the hearth to cook, Megda advanced on her unsuspecting patient with new purpose. He wore some armor that was a bit tricky at first, but her nimble hands soon had it off. His filthy jacket and shirt rapidly joined the pile. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of sweat and sick, and shoved the pile a little farther away with her foot. Maybe later she’d dump them in the creek. Or off a cliff. 

Returning to the task at hand, she levered him onto his side to peel off his undershirt. The grimy garment snagged slightly behind him as she tried to work it over his head. She tugged again, and the stranger let out a soft cry of pain. What in Thra’s name…? She rolled him gently on his stomach to see what the problem was.   
“Oh, _bugger.” _Megda sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth. On his back, two rusty red stains bled through the back of his undershirt, gluing the cloth into his wounds. The sight of it pushed her back with a jerk. She shook herself into action and darted over to a basin of rainwater below the window, soaking the end of her sleeve. Wings buzzing with nerves, she pressed her sodden sleeve to the dried blood. Soon water, died pale pink, ran down her wrists and dripped onto the floor. By the time the edges of her sleeves were as stained as his back, the blood had loosened enough for Megda to separate cloth from flesh with a delicate hand. 

Angry and red, the wounds were bright against his green skin. From the look of the thick scar tissue around them they had begun to heal but had been reopened-probably when he had been chasing after her, she realized guiltily. They seemed to have stopped bleeding for now. “Luckily, I have a fair amount of first-hand schooling with wounds,” she said, pulling two thick tufts of lichen from her pockets. The woody smell sent her back to long, painful nights spent learning which herbs healed and which made her scrapes worse. She snorted. “Lucky for you, anyways.”

The lichen was rolled between her palms until it was soft enough to press gently into the first open lesion, though her mystery guest still groaned when she did. “Don’t be such a childling,” she huffed, and started on the other one. As she worked to cover both wounds completely, her curiosity at what could have possibly caused them grew. They were two, symmetrical and around his shoulder blades, about where Megda’s wings started. Maybe he was a self-made male, she thought. If he was, he’d done an awful job of getting his wings off. The wounds were more deep than a slash, though, so then again maybe not.

The old undershirt promptly found new life as a bunch of bandages that haphazardly kept the lichen in place. Despite her experience, she’d never gotten the hang of neat wrappings. The scars were much wider than the wounds themselves and still showed under the clot of dressings. The evidence of a much more horrible wound wormed into her mind. What could have done this? The bone-faced beast was the most dangerous thing in the Dark Woods, but he would have caught the injured gelfling by now if they were his prey. 

The scar tissue was raised and fresh, jagged around the edge like thick tree bark. She traced them with a cold fingertip, sending a shiver up the back of the unconscious gelfling. “Sorry!” she blurted out, then felt silly for apologizing to someone who couldn’t hear. Quickly, she pulled the dusty Stonewood tunic over his shoulders, covering the scars again. 

Now that the stranger was dry and bandaged, her stomach made itself known again. Right! The roots! She plucked them from the coals and, wincing at the heat, tossed them between her hands until they were cool enough to start ripping off the tough skin with her teeth. Her tongue was almost to the steaming root when a thought struck her. Was it a good idea to feed him? Megda paused. How would she even do that? Her stomach growled again, and she decided it would probably be best if she ate both of them. A half-gourd of rainwater from the same basin she’d wet her sleeve in followed her simple meal. The water was sweet on her lips after such a long day, and she scarcely took a breath as she gulped down two more scoopfuls. 

After the third scoopful, she licked her lips and swiped a bloody sleeve across her mouth before immediately realizing her mistake. She sprang back in revulsion, spitting like mad. She raked the taste of copper out of her mouth with her fingers, still jumping around like a crawly in a hot pan until she tripped over the prone lump of her “guest”. 

“I’m glad you’re too dead to see that, or I would have had to kill you,” she grumbled with her face on the floor, “and that would be too much work.” She rolled over and found herself face-to-face with her guest, who was still as grey skinned as ever. If anything, he looked worse. She realized with a start that  _ not _ killing him would be much harder than ending his life. “Ugh!” She groaned, pressing her palms to her eyes. Alright, how does someone not die?

“Figure that out, and use it to help him,”she told herself. Unfortunately, no one replied with any useful tips. Her arms flailed in frustration. “C’mon, I should know this! I  _ don’t _ die all the time!” Suddenly, her elbow bumped something, sending it clattering across the hut. Megda sat up to see her drinking gourd as it rolled to a stop by the wall. 

The thought came to her like an arrow. “Water!” All living things needed it, so of course he would! She bolted over to where she’d sent the half-gourd flying and refilled it with rainwater. Doing her best to keep shaking hands steady, she poured a small stream into his mouth… only for it to dribble out the other side. She snorted in exasperation. One hand balancing the gourd, the other holding his big stupid head, she tried again only to get the same result. He needed to swallow, somehow. Holding his head steady with her foot while she used one hand to pour the water and the other to massage his throat just ended with her falling over. She was getting water all over both of them when they had only just dried off! This was getting ridiculous. Without thinking, Megda clamped the gourd between her teeth and dragged his head into her lap. With her legs cradling his head, her hand was free to move his throat and he finally drank. After the third gourd, she noticed the green begin to return to his face. After the fifth, he looked much better. Bags like purple bruises still shadowed his eyes and there was still a hollowness to his cheeks, but at least his skin didn’t look like the bottom of a dried-up lake anymore. Megda felt her wings soften as the relief washed over her. She sighed and sat back. 

Between the cloth and reeds that covered her doorway, she could see the daylight start to fade. It had been many trine since she’d spoken to another gelfling. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had said anything to her. “And now there’s one in my lap,” she mused.

She could feel his warmth in her stomach, like another hearth. When had the thief last touched someone without stealing or dodging a swinging fist? The weight of his head pressed into her, new but not unfamiliar. She was surprised to find she didn’t want to leave it. Ignoring her bed, she laid back and let the strange feeling flood her. For once the presence of another gelfling was a good thing- a safe thing. Maybe he’d be angry when he woke, but for now the traveller was a steady, calming presence. It might not last forever, but for now she could be close to someone without fear for the first time in trine. Just because she could, Megda reached up and brushed a hand over his forehead. She brushed a stray loc off his brow, still burning with fever. He shivered again and on impulse she drew closer. Curling around him, she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep as quickly as she could. 

If she let her mind catch up to her actions, she’d have to consider their consequences. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I know Gurjin barely shows up in this, but I wanted to flesh Megda out a bit first. He'll be more present-and hopefully named- in later chapters.


End file.
